


Shadows in the Peripheral

by iknowhowmystoryends (gorgeouschaos), sams_spirit_halloween_wig



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, Dead John Winchester, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28802106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorgeouschaos/pseuds/iknowhowmystoryends, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sams_spirit_halloween_wig/pseuds/sams_spirit_halloween_wig
Summary: Sam has become well practiced in not believing Dean. He’s had to. One of them has to have a solid grip on reality.Facing Dean’s version of the truth doesn’t come easy. But to solve John Winchester’s murder, Sam might have to learn how to see the same things his brother does.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Shadows in the Peripheral

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to suckmydickofficerbitch on tumblr, who gave us permission to use one of their ideas to base this fic around!  
> (Do not search for the post unless you want spoilers.)  
> Rated m for mild sexual content, themes of abuse and violence, and mental health issues. We debated whether or not we should go with t but went with m to be safe.  
> The chapter title comes from the quote "every window in alcatraz has a view of San Francisco" by Susanna Kaysen.  
> iknowhowmystoryends: Hi! Thanks for reading, hope you like it, and we love hearing from y'all.  
> sams_spirit_halloween_wig: hi everyone. welcome to the chaotic party, we're doing just fine, as you can see. Thanks for putting your eyes on our words.

_January 26, 2005-- John Winchester’s Journal._

_Drove out for a case in Madison, SD. Don’t know what this thing is, but it got into the county hospital without anyone seeing it. Tore up a new mother, and the whole delivery team at the hospital-- and the woman’s husband, while it was at it._

_None of the other staff saw anything, but they all heard the screaming._

_A patient down the hall reported an invisible assailant, said that the claw marks were just appearing out of thin air._

_The child is missing._

_All the plants and flowers on the floor of the hospital are sick, like they’ve been poisoned. Stems and leaves are slimy and drooping, and all the plants had to be removed because they stunk of decay._

  
  
  


**Sam**

Jessica pulled Sam down the hallway behind her, laughing and looking over her shoulder to make sure he was still coming, even though she had a death grip on his hand. Sam smirked and trailed helplessly behind her. 

The party downstairs thudded under their feet, and Sam could hear Brady screaming something about shots.

Thank God Jess was rescuing him from _that_. Knowing Brady, it would be whiskey, and about four more than either of them should have, by the time it was all said and done. 

They stood in the black, gaping maw of an open doorway, and Jessica stuck her arm in, fumbling for a light switch. 

“Got it,” she said triumphantly, and with a snap, the room flooded with light.

Two heads emerged from under the quilt of the king sized poster bed in the middle of the room, and one of them said ‘hey’, in the startled tone of someone who has been suddenly interrupted mid-heavy petting session.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Jessica said quickly, then leaned forward and looked.

“Steven? Is that you?”

The other person in the bed stuck their hand out of the sheets and waved a meek hello. 

“Hey, Jess,” they said. “Sam.”

“Hey, Steven,” Sam said, looking carefully at the ceiling. 

“We’ll find another room,” Jess said. “Unless,” she waggled her eyebrows. “You two want company?”

“Get out,” Steven threw a pillow at them. 

The pillow hit Sam in the knee. Jessica turned off the lights.

  
  


“Hey, there’s no one in here,” Sam said, poking his head into the room across the hall. 

“Turn on the light,” Jessica said.

The light snapped on, and Sam gasped softly. 

“Oh, hell no,” Jessica said. “No. If we go in there, you might never come back out, and I need _party_ Sam tonight.”

“But,” Sam said, looking longingly through the doorway.

Jessica turned the lights back off and shoved Sam out of the library and back into the hallway, and up against the wall. He grunted in surprise. 

“Party Sam,” Jessica insisted, her lips curved in a half-feral smile. “The Sam that can drink everyone else under the table. The Sam that’s fun.”

“What, normal Sam isn’t fun?”

Jessica’s hand ghosted over the front of his jeans and Sam bit down hard on his bottom lip. Jessica’s smile sharpened.

“Normal Sam is lots of fun,” Jessica said, squeezing slightly. “But normal Sam needs to sit down, shut up, and listen to his girlfriend if he wants to get laid tonight.”

“I could always go join Steven,” Sam pointed out, but he knew a lost cause when he was fighting one, so he bent down to kiss Jessica. She met his lips with an enthusiasm that rendered him a little breathless. 

“Hello, party Sam,” she said when they broke apart. “It’s been a while.”

“Fine.” Sam rolled his eyes, grinning reluctantly. “But no shots.”

In the end, Brady could only be avoided for so long, and coaxed several shots into Sam. Jessica took less coaxing, and took one more with Brady after Sam stopped at two.

“So,” Brady said, “we should tell ghost stories.”

Steven’s bunk buddy, whose name, they’d learned, was Caleb, had started a bonfire in the small fire pit in the backyard, and they’d pulled the folding chairs from the shed, and some of the mismatched chairs from the kitchen table inside around it.

“No,” Sam shot back, immediately, but his protest was drowned out by a chorus of the rambunctious, drunken enthusiasm frat boys.

Jessica must have gotten a look at his face in the firelight, because she stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled.

Other than Brady glaring daggers at her, no one else even noticed.

“Never could quite figure out the whistling thing,” Jessica mourned, turning her fingers over on her lap. 

“I’ve got one,” Brady hollered.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in his fingers. “I’m gonna walk around, get some air.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jessica said, but she was blinking sleepily. 

“Nah,” Sam said. “I won’t be gone long. Enjoy the stories.” 

He kissed the top of her head, and she reached up and patted his cheek with a soft, floppy slap. 

“Keep an eye on her, will you?” Sam said to Steven as he slipped his arms into his coat.

“Hey,” Jessica protested. “Strong, fierce woman. Political science woman.”

“Drunk woman,” Sam added. “Steven?” 

“You’re delusional if you think she’s not going to be the one keeping me safe,” Steven said. “All these boys want me, and they know it.”

“We sure do,” Brady said. “No one’s gonna touch your girl, Sam.”

“Cram your chivalrous bullshit right up your ass, the both of you,” Jess said. “Love you, babe. Watch out for sewer grates. Wouldn’t want one to sneak up on you like last time.”

Steven snorted into his cup.

Sam flipped the bird at both of them and chuckled as he walked away.

“Now, as I was saying,” Brady said in an overly dramatized voice, “I have a _grand_ ghost story to impart upon you all.” 

Sam walked a little faster, the light of the fire and Brady’s voice fading away behind his back. He turned up the collar of his coat and vanished into the deep, dark unknown night of Palo Alto.

  
  


\---

**Dean:**

For a second, pinning Sam to the ground, Dean felt like he was twelve again, wrestling with his brother for the last of the cereal while John watched impassively.

Then Sam flipped him onto his back and Dean remembered that his little brother had gone and grew up between then and now. 

“Get off me,” Dean said, and if it’s a little too harsh, a little too frantic, Sam didn’t know him well enough to notice anymore.

Sam hauls Dean to his feet. “The hell are you doing here, Dean?”

“What, I can’t check on my little brother?”

“I haven’t heard from you in two years. Something’s wrong or you wouldn’t be here. Besides, between the two of us? I’m not the one who needs to be checked on.”

Dean bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yeah. Thanks for having me committed, by the way.”

Sam looked away, the stripes of light falling across his face insufficient for Dean to read his expression. “I had to.”

“I was in the middle of a hunt, Sam. People died because I wasn’t there.”

“No, Dean.” Sam’s tone shifted into the condescension so familiar from Dean’s teenage years. “People died of natural causes. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“God, I can’t--” Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Never mind, Sammy. Forget it. I shouldn’t have come. It’s not like you care if Dad’s dead anyway.”

Dean turned to leave and was stopped by Sam’s hand heavy on his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means Dad’s dead,” Dean spat. 

Naturally, that was the moment the light flicked on. 

“Sam?” the woman standing in the doorway asked. “What’s going on?’

Dean took her in-- out of Sam’s league, definitely-- and smiled. “Why don’t you go back to bed, sweetheart? Family business.”

“Why don’t you take that attitude and shove it up your ass, sweetheart?” she asked. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. Sam chuckled a little and went to stand beside the woman. 

“Jess, this is my brother Dean,” Sam said. “Dean, Jess.”

Jess’ face softened in a way Dean didn’t care for. “Oh,” she said, and yeah, Dean definitely didn’t care for that tone. That was the tone the therapists had used when he told them about his mother, before he got better at deflecting.

“Yeah, I’m not crazy, so stow the pity,” Dean said. “I’m just here to tell your boyfriend that his daddy got murdered.”

Sam went still. “You’re serious?”

“No, Sam, I’m joking, because I think this is fucking hilarious.”

Sam sat down in a kitchen chair. Jess rested a hand on his shoulder, her head bowed so that her curls shielded her face from Dean’s sight. “Who did it?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Dean said. “I don’t remember, Bobby doesn’t know. Was hoping you’d help me figure it out.”

“You don’t remember?” Sam looked up. “You were there?”

Dean shrugged. “You sure you want your girlfriend to be here for this?”

“The girlfriend wants to be here for this,” Jess said evenly. “So go ahead, Dean.”

Dean paused a beat. When Sam didn’t say anything, he said, “Bobby says I showed up at his place with Dad’s body in the backseat five days ago. I had this--” Dean lifted his shirt to show the bandages across his ribs, then dropped it back into the place to continue. “--and one hell of a black eye. I don’t remember anything until a day later. Shock, Bobby says. Point is, I got nothing, so here I am.”

“What happened to your ribs?” Sam demanded. 

“What part of _I don’t remember_ don’t you understand, Sam?”

Dean watched Sam’s jaw clench. Some things hadn’t changed, at least. Sam said, “What about the black eye?”

“What part of--”

“The part where I’m remembering all those times a “ghost” gave you a black eye growing up,” Sam said, and Dean’s fists clenched. 

“Forget it,” Dean said. “Just-- forget it. Enjoy your life, Sammy.”

He was out the door before Sam was out of his chair. 

Sam tracked Dean down at the shitty motel he’d picked for the night. Dean, leaning against the door to his room with a cigarette in hand, watched his brother scan the parking lot before approaching. 

“Look, Dean--”

“Fuck off, Sam,” Dean said. It wasn’t angry, just tired. “I know you think I belong in the nuthouse. I know you don’t give a damn about Dad. I just thought that maybe, you know, you’d care if he was dead. I guess not.”

“Would you just let me talk?” Sam bit out. 

Dean took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke into Sam’s face. While his brother was coughing, he said, “Go for it, college boy.”

Sam glared at him. “I care that Dad’s dead, okay? He might be certifiable, and he might have been a terrible father--”

“He wasn’t,” Dean muttered, but Sam steamrolled over him. 

“--but he’s still my dad, okay? I still care. So I came out here to tell you I’ll go out to Bobby’s. See if we can figure anything out. But only if you take your meds.”

Dean thought about the prescription bottles he’d tossed out the driver’s side window of the Impala somewhere around Hatch, New Mexico sometime around his twenty-fourth birthday and said, “Yeah, okay.”

Sam smiled, then. Seeing the smile tugged on something deep and visceral inside Dean, something that had never let go of the baby he’d carried from a burning house. 

“Okay,” Sam echoed. “Let’s go talk to Jess.”

Dean ground out his cigarette butt beneath his boot heel.

Twenty minutes later, Jess’ agonized screams ringing through the air, Dean pulled Sam from a burning house and didn’t let go.


End file.
